[open]

[whattaprick]

Who: Lambert and YOU
Where: The Carnival
When: During the downtime between Atlantis and their next world.
What: Any Witcher worth his salt knows the first thing you should do when you're in an unfamiliar environment: get the lay of the land.

1. not the nurse you're looking for
[ You might have come into the medical tent looking for supplies or something else. If you were looking for Zecora, prepare to be disappointed because there's a scarred man scowling heavily as he clatters around the place, not working on anything in particular.

He doesn't seem to register there's someone else around -- or is he just straight up ignoring you??? ]

2. by the woods

[ With the carnival no longer water-logged, Lambert's taken a walk of the perimeter, even stepped into the edge of the woods, but he hasn't tried to press any further, although he's stood and looked at it for some time.

There's no sense letting his skills get rusty, so he mostly spends the time-- night or day-- sparring invisible enemies, steel sword flashing as he weaves it through the air.

When he's not swinging a sword around, you'll find him sitting on the dirt, legs folded under him and eyes closed. ]

3. getting to know you?

[ Lambert doesn't normally care about getting to know people, but he also normally doesn't stay anywhere longer than a few months, either. And that's at Kaer Morhen, where he can always get blind drunk and fuck off into the woods and kill some drowners if he needs to let off some steam instead of dealing with the other Witcher.

If he's going to be here for a year and a day? He's going to at least need to know names.

So wherever you are, whatever you're up to, you might notice a newcomer watching you for a few moments before he speaks up. ]

So what do you do around here?

4. wildcard!
[ If we discussed a previous scenario or you just want to do something not covered here, go for it! I'll match whatever prose style you go with. ]

Comments

[whattaprick]

"Good to know." Lambert raises his brows slightly. He was glad to wake up without any more webbing between his fingers, and he hasn't noticed any other changes manifest, so he'd assumed he was off scott-free. He might not be so fortunate in the future.

The joke is exactly that to people from Lambert's world, Witchers are the worst of all. For that reason, he doesn't even blink when Childermass points the pen at him.

"Real fetching, isn't it?" He smirks, his expression cynical. "If you want to get your own, though, I'm afraid I can't help you. Wasn't as easy as magic rubbing off."

[mildwildchild]

Just since we were in Atlantis. It's a lot easier to work with arms than with wing...fin...things with hands on the ends. [He just kinda...doesn't volunteer any more information than that.]

How 'bout you? Did you get to be turned into a fish or something?

http://68.media.tumblr.com/c6b4204ab0a736b98601e8736b5c228f/tumblr_o8fdcoZSS71r3ew35o3_r1_250.png

[motivenotfound]

[She sees him go for that sword, and she shifts forward just a little, ready to take him on--but he's not ballsy enough to make a go for it, which is almost disappointing. But, uh, probably for the better.

She does her best to hold a straight face when he starts acting all scary, but... she can't do it. She just cannot. Her laugh starts its escape like air out a balloon before erupting for real.]

Pffffft--!

Hee hee... hahahahahaha! Oh my God. Tough guy, huh?

Scary~!

[She literally doubles over laughing--and no, she doesn't sound scared at all. She sounds.... honestly, she sounds like she's sixteen.]

So, are you gonna fight me?

I won't stop you.

But I'm actually your boss, so I'm probably gonna kick your ass!

[atouts]

"I would prefer avoiding additional surprises there, in any case, so that's for the best."

One color change to his eyes is enough, thanks, although Childermass supposes he should ask how else Lambert changed so. The reference to monsters before likely meant he was still human, but asking would also mean showing more interest than he actually cares to. It's a struggle, really, even if he does decide to in the end.

"But if it wasn't the carnival's doing, I assume it's something from where you're from." An easy guess. "Surely you weren't born that way."

[whattaprick]

[ Normally, Lambert would be the one giving people shit, but his arrival at the carnival has been something of a reversal of fortune. In any case, the moment she speaks he can recognize her voice, clear then the slight distortion over the small devices they carry. Still, having secured her identity, he only relaxes his grip on was his sword and waits out her fit of mirth, expression fading from a scowl to a smirk.

When all else fails, stick to bravado! it's always worked out for him before. ]

I think I could give you a challenge. I try not to make a habit of fighting who I'm working for. Unless they draw first. [ Now, what had she introduced herself as…? ]

It's Nightrider Illustrious, isn't it? [ Whatever kind of a name that is. ]

[whattaprick]

Not much of a fish. [ If he notices or cares that Jamie's omitting any information, he doesn't show it. ] not sure I like the experience. Although I've never been underwater that long before, so that was a new one for me.

[ Oh, right. Now might be a good time to introduce themselves. ] I'm Lambert. What's your name?

[whattaprick]

At least, in his case, the change is not merely aesthetic. The observation would be a natural prompt for an explanation, but Lambert doesn't take him up on it quite yet. One finger taps the table thoughtfully, before he finally says:

"You're right about that. But if you want details, this conversation is going to need a lot more alcohol." They are in the cookhouse, and Lambert assume this carnival has to have it stashed somewhere.

closed, for strange!

[whattaprick]

[ The events leading up to this point have mostly passed in a pleasant, tipsy blur. Proper introductions exchanged at last (Strange is both exactly like and nothing like what Lambert expected from their exchange on the network) had given way to drinks, though Lambert's snuck in a few gulps of White Gull to give an extra kick to whatever Strange offered him. Somehow, in the middle of all of that, he'd never actually gotten around to answering Strange's question about what a Witcher is, but if he's forgotten about it entirely Lambert is perfectly happy to leave it that way.

The question is the first time this evening that Lambert's really had to slow down and try to think about something, and he considers it for a few moments. ]

Does it have to be someone I know? [ He could spy on his bosses, but no sense in risking them having the ability to detect magic. And he's definitely not interested in peeking in on whatever any of the kids are doing at night. Which leaves only one potential candidate really. ]

There's a man who's got feathers growing out of his arms, silver eyes. Kind of shabby-looking, doesn't smile much. [ Now what was his name...? ]

[mildwildchild]

Yeah, it was kinda weird, wasn't it? I can't even swim.

I'm Jamie. I'd shake hands, but I don't think you wanna get this stuff all over you. [He indicates the smudges of grease liberally covering his arms all the way up to his elbows.] Where're you from?

[atouts]

How unsurprising. Of course, it's only natural to exchange strange stories over a few cups, so Childermass isn't at all inclined to disagree. No, instead he'll glance away to check who from the cookhouse might be keeping an eye on the kitchen. It's that lull between meals that proves no one aside, he would guess, from the cinder sprites and so—

"Just a moment," he'll say by way of excusing himself. He'll stand and leave the pen behind, as well as the loose papers, but the little memo book he'd been writing in is shut and tucked safely away into a vest pocket. It will only be a moment, too, as he knows exactly where to look in the kitchen to find what he wants.

And it won't be the best whiskey the cookhouse has — Lambert wouldn't thank him for bringing the head cook's wrath down on them — but it's also not the worst. He'll return with a bottle of that and two glasses, all of which he sets down on their table.

"Unless you would prefer wine...?"

He imagines not. Whiskey is probably more than strong enough for the man's taste, judging by looks alone, and also strong enough for what Lambert doesn't know. The ulterior motive for so easily agreeing to fetch this all. If he's going to test out a certain anti-toxin necklace from a certain underwater city, hidden under shirt and cravat, it may as well be now.

[kingsroads]

[ Exactly in the sense that huh, he is mad and eccentric and hasn't brushed his hair, but different because now that they're out of Atlantis, some of his fish scales have remained: orange, white, and black scales are spotted around Strange's neck and lower cheek, as well as on his hands. There's also the mirror eyes, but the scales are obviously the newest based on how Strange just keeps scratching at them. They itch.

Strange can't help but smirk slightly as Lambert describes who he's thinking of. ] So you've met Childermass?

[ He continues talking as he starts to gesture over the basin, dividing into quadrants, over and over again. ] We were from the same world before our arrivals here. And yes, he's always been that dour.

[spaghettimonster]

[Well, that's more like it. Now the majority of burning objects in the trailer are supposed to be on fire, and nobody's nearly stabbing anybody else, and they can continue having their pre-fight conversation.

Mostly. His new, equally alarmed roommate still has a weapon out. What is it with his roommates being so startled at the sight of him, anyway? Is it his stunning good looks? Has somebody been telling tall tales to the new people before he greets them? That sounds like something some japesters would do.]

No, don't be absurd! [The skeleton shakes his head, before quickly pointing at Lambert.] This humble trailer has been my home for months. You're supposed to be my roommate.

[whattaprick]

[ In its own way, it's good information, and something to be wary of at the same time. The carnival will adapt their bodies forcibly to whatever they're thrust into, whether they like it or not. ]

I'm a Witcher from Kaer Morhen. [ He doesn't expect the name will get any recognition, if only because no one has recognized what he is so far. ] What about you?

[whattaprick]

"Nah. This works for me." The liquid in the bottle looks promisingly alcoholic, and Lambert's always been more of a quantity than quality kind of guy. Witcher hallucinogens notwithstanding. The quick look around Childermass had given before stepping to the kitchen is noted, as is the way he keeps the small notebook close but leaves the rest alone. Clearly, one has more value than the other.

He'll go right ahead to picking the bottle up and taking the liberty to pour whiskey out until the cup's nearly brimming, and up to a more normal level for Childermass. It smells as promising as it looks, and he's already looking forward to it kicking in, which is why he doesn't wait for him to start before knocking back the whole glass, feeling the satisfying burn all the way down.

"That's more like it." And he'll go straight to pouring himself another. "So how'd you wanna do this? Question for a question?"

[whattaprick]

[ Lambert has yet to cotton on to his own change, the sprinkle of bioluminescent spots down his spine, because he's not particularly used to admiring himself in mirrors and it doesn't otherwise affect him. ]

That's the one. [ He snaps his fingers. ] Can't speak ill of a man who gets me drinks, though.

[ Haha yeah right he can totally talk shit about him. ] I didn't think he had any friends.

[ He could be his friend and totally okay with spying on him. The two are not mutually exclusive. ]

[mildwildchild]

[Sure enough, Jamie looks up at Lambert with a scrunched-face expression of utter incomprehension.] I'm my Zoid team's strategist. I pilot sometimes too, but mostly - what's a Witcher?

[Forget his giant robot nonsense he needs to know what this is Right Now.]

[atouts]

"I doubt you would find my own answers all that interesting, Mister... You never actually said, now did you?"

It's a leading question, as someone hasn't bothered introducing himself yet. Childermass hasn't either, of course, but he isn't the one who invited himself to nerdy writing central over here. He settles back into his chair as he says that, sliding his own glass closer to himself.

Lambert's free to take that as the first question for a question, though. It is one, after all.

[whattaprick]

[ The eeriest part, Lambert decides, is how the skeleton doesn't have lips or vocal chords and is apparently perfectly capable of speaking and a full range of emotional expression regardless. He's almost too distracted by that to process what he says next, though it's enough to make him cock his head.

Rooming with skeletons. Now that's a story the other Witchers wouldn't believe if he told them. ]

I don't like surprises. [ Is what he offers, in lieu of an apology. It wouldn't be very sincere, anyway. ] And the undead aren't usually talkative where I'm from.

[ He's still wary, but ... if he needs to, he can always draw his sword again, so he sheathes it on his back. ] I'm Lambert.

[whattaprick]

"I suppose I didn't." Frankly, people aren't usually interested in calling him anything but 'Witcher,' the medallion a dead giveaway. But a lot of rules don't apply here.

"It's Lambert." He keeps his drink close, swirling the liquid inside the glass. This, too, is new -- he's more used to drinking from rough-hewn tankards.

"What do I call you?"

[whattaprick]

[ At one point, he thought I'd be happier if nobody knew what he was. Now, Lamberts had to explain it in more times than he can count, and the novelty is wearing off. ]

Monster hunter. [ He supplies with a shrug. It's the most simple way to explain it, even if it leaves out a lot of the pertinent details. ]

What's a Zoid?

[atouts]

"Childermass will do," is the name he'll offer. It's not his full name, but there's only one person in the carnival who even bothers to use that and even that's a little weird, to be quite honest. Besides, handing out a full name to dangerous looking people in a faerie realm is, in retrospect, likely a bad idea.

"So what is the story with your eyes, if it isn't magic?"

There, next question asked. He'll take the chance to lean back in his chair and clear out his own glass of whiskey while waiting for an answer.

[mildwildchild]

It's a multiton biomechanical combat unit. We use 'em in sporting competitions. You hunt monsters? Like what? Do you just do it for fun, or are they like, hurting people, or what?

[Seriously he's...so used to the idea of giant animal robots that they hardly even rate a decent explanation - it's like trying to describe a ballpoint pen or boxer shorts. Monster hunting is completely beyond his realm of experience and therefore much more interesting.]

[whattaprick]

It's a mouthful of a name, and Lambert's already thinking of alternatives. He'll go right ahead and take another refreshing gulp of his drink before he responds.

"Drank some bad potions when I was a kid. I got off lucky, all things considered." Other boys died in screaming agony, though Lambert wasn't in a position to notice that. He was in pretty significant pain of his own.

It's his turn for a question, though, so he won't waste any time firing back. "How did you end up here?"

[atouts]

And people wonder why he doesn't fully trust Zecora's potions. Sure, they're probably fine, but then you hear that...

"I came looking for it," Childermass replies, then takes a moment to pour a refill for himself. "And obviously found it. What of yourself? Another accident or are you here on purpose?"

[whattaprick]

Just wait until you find out the other half of his job, Childermass.

"Accident. I was tracking an ekimmara, jumped into a river, and ended up here." He'll gloss over the part where, upon realizing he couldn't get out, he went hunting for its owner ... until he realized there were other advantages to being here.

"How'd you hear about this place to start with? Other worlds don't tend to make themselves easy to find."